


For The Greater Good

by orphan_account



Series: death be not proud [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Dark side wins, Dark!Harry, Introspection, M/M, Romance, universe alterations (UA)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-18
Updated: 2011-03-18
Packaged: 2017-10-20 22:55:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/217984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was for the Greater Good, he told himself, but it didn't stop the salty tears. He told himself that it was the only way to keep his sanity, to stop the Abyss from staring back into him. -never look down- HPTR</p>
            </blockquote>





	For The Greater Good

**Author's Note:**

> __  
> The title strangely suits, doesn't it? Er... hello. You see, I thought this happy little bit could bear to be separated from its mother, with some new additions and edits, so here we are. And check out the companion fic/prequel of sorts, No Love Lost. If there's no pagebreaks, blame my computer! It's stuffing up, and I can't even update my profile! So, er… listen to 'Playing God' and 'All I Wanted Was You' by Paramore while reading this. It helps with the mood.  
> 

_never look down}_

It was only then, when in the deep, deep bowels of the dungeons that he allowed himself to _feel._

Guilt. Remorse. Sorrow.

It was _all_ his fault.

He could've them from a life of being trapped, of being put on display and paraded around like prisoners- which they _were_.

They stared at him, unfailingly, accusingly, their actions screaming louder than words ever could. But it was only due to Harry that they had been allowed to _live_. If it were up to Voldemort than they would all be six feet under, pushing up daisies.

Harry had tried, and through his efforts some of them had been forgiven. Pardoned.

But it wasn't enough.

And here he stood, his mask falling to pieces and unable to utter a single word in their presence.

Hermione, bless her soul, had survived with her mind fully intact. It wasn't the torture, no; Harry hadn't allowed _anyone_ to touch a single hair on their heads, even Voldemort himself.

No, it was the fact that they had- _Dumbledore_ had- lost. Harry offered them a choice; either to join the Dark Side, remain neutral, or stand with Dumbledore and be imprisoned for life.

Luna, along with Neville- oddly enough- had chosen the first option. Hermione, at first, had chosen to remain neutral but was soon dragged to the Light side by her love for Ron and her unfailing devotion to Dumbledore. Even after being given the cold, hard facts of Dumbledore's every single manipulation by Harry- hell, his whole life had been one!- she still hadn't budged.

Harry couldn't fault her; it seemed that love, sometimes, made you so very irrational.

Remus had preferred to be neutral, the Dark werewolf and Light wizard in him, hiding away in a holiday house of the Black's in Cuba with a pregnant and married Tonks, the manor being given to her once Harry had discovered his position as the Black Heir, and had subsequently restored Tonks as a Black on the family tree, giving back her surname and inheritance. They had lived on happily since then, Remus not needing a job as Harry happily forked out all the gold, silver and bronze needed for all their expenses and Tonks taking care of their little tyke.

They sent letters to Harry, once in a while, attaching pictures of their of their adorable one year-old son, Teddy Remus Lupin. Harry's precious godson. He'd been so touched when they'd asked him to be Teddy's godfather, shedding happy tears for the fact they still _cared_ for him, _loved_ him, and collapsed into Voldemort's- _Tom's_ arms at the end of the day, an emotional wreck.

Harry had some reassurance in knowing that at least _some_ of his dearest and closest friends were safe, happy and content with each other.

The Twins had chosen to be neutral too, if not leaning a bit on the Dark side due to their fondness of Harry, investing those 1,000 Galleons in Weasley's Wizard Wheezes and making it an enormous amount of gold in return; generously donating some to the Dark side's war fund. 'You shouldn't have!' Harry complained once he'd found out, an amused Tom skulking in the background. 'We wanted to.' They had chorused together, both sporting identical grins. And then Tom snorted.

Ginny had, surprisingly, chosen the Dark side, standing against her family and former friends, remaining steadfast in her growing friendship with Harry. Sure, she knew he loved her, but he wasn't _in_ love with her. That devotion remained _only_ to Voldemort. His Tom.

But then Ginny had been betrayed by Ron once her allegiances were discovered and brainwashed _for the greater good_ _ **.**_ 'A necessary casualty of war', Dumbledore had stated once Ginny's suicide had been made known.

Ron, predictably, had chosen the Light side. And had dearly suffered for it. When the Light lost, the entire clan -(even the Weasleys that Harry hadn't known)- bar Charlie, Percy, Bill, the twins, Ginny (still alive and un-outed yet back then) and himself, had been slaughtered. Murdered. In cold blood.

It was all the payment that Voldemort had needed.

At first, Harry had protested, but shut up when Voldemort had claimed that it was either them or Harry's friends. Atleast the Weasleys had died painlessly, some cold comfort that was to Harry.

The feeling of Mrs. Weasley's warm hugs would forever linger on.

And he had sobbed bitterly at the realization that war could never be won without sacrifices.

He loved them _all_ of them, even if they were unable to love him, and he would probably never stop loving them. Ron and Hermione- his very first best friends. Mrs. Weasley- his first mother figure. Mr. Weasley- as fond and enthusiastic as he was about Muggle technology. 'A fellytone!' He had exclaimed happily.

And those memories had made him feel so wretched- so awful. It was as if he had sold his sold to the devil, but that wasn't possible, as He already held Harry's heart, soul and body.

He never regretted joining the Dark cause and loving Tom, though. Tom was one of the only bright spots in his life, as impassive and unfeeling as he seemed sometimes.

His first friends stared at him blankly from behind their cages. They were treated the best, out of all the prisoners. They were given proper food and bedding, clothes (obviously), access to each other and Harry, and occasionally, books and newspapers.

The books were, of course, checked by Voldemort personally before they were given. Like a note regarding the miraculous resurrection of Dumbledore would bring forth enough hope and power to break through the enchantments holding them captive, fleeing to the Light side and rejoining Dumbledore, fighting for the good of the world once again.

Right.

And it would be totally cruel to leave them in the dark about the rest of the Wizarding World, the political reforms and re-enactments of the old laws. Harry knew that Hermione was delighted by the 'Liberation and Reprisal of the House-Elves' law that Harry had put forth successfully as in Hermione's stead, a gift to her, though she didn't show it.

Only a tiny, approving nod and smile appeared after she had read the article, but was soon wiped clear of; it wouldn't do to look happy in _this place_. But she couldn't hide that she thought most of the reforms being made were to benefit all of Wizard-kind.

Tom really was a genius. By promising all those social reforms and magical advancements, he'd managed to ensnare most of the votes for Minister of Magic. And it turns out that it was working with Hermione too.

The _subtle_ swaying of opinions, so sneaky and tricky that she couldn't even discern when the loathing of absolutely _everything_ that the Dark stood for ended and the admiration began.

The depression worsened as he ventured deeper into his thoughts and musings, and he found himself staring at his wrists, faint and silvery scars marring the otherwise smooth, pale flesh; something Harry had foolishly done _a long time ago_ \- the sleepless nights spent contemplating the _hopelessness_ of everything, the endless agony, the oppressive silence and the silent screams and the begging and pleading to a deity that mustn't have existed for it _never ended his suffering_ \- before Tom had become a centerpiece in his life; his rock, his savior.

{for who would save the _savior_ from the world _?}_

It was for the Greater Good, he told himself. It was so the world could heal, repair itself, and so the Wizarding World could start anew. But it didn't stop the salty tears from streaming down his face, nor the horrible wails of the widowed wives and wounded soldiers from getting to him.

Sacrifices were necessary, but that didn't make it any more bearable. He told himself that it was the only way to keep his sanity, to stop the Abyss from staring back into him.

He was distracted by the muted thumps of footsteps from the man who came to stand beside him, soundless in his movements, and only Harry picked up on it due to his exceptional hearing and his reaction to being in close proximity to Tom.

Warm lips brushed against the shell of Harry's ear, and he shivered in pleasure. Soft, hushed words spoken for his ears only:

"Come love, it is time to leave."

It was times like these when he was glad that he had Tom, if no-one else.

Tom was the only who could drag Harry out of his darkness and depression, snap him out of his funk, and the only one who dared to, for the bloodstains of the man who had dared disturb Harry before were impossible to scrub out, even with the use of Mrs. Skower's Magical Mess Remover.

The house-elves had said so themselves.

And Tom had merely smirked.

_{never look down}_


End file.
